The rain pounded on the plate glass window at the front of the shop. When the thunder rolled across the sky, it rattled the glass in its frame and shook the walls. The lightning raked across the clouds.
Hunched over the eight-foot table tucked away in the back alcove behind the register, Helen hardly even noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the small, grainy, black and white photo in the middle of a dozen others, and she traced a finger over the name beneath it.
She didn't look up as she heard the door open and the bell above it sound. She knew who it was, and she knew he would understand.
"Helen?" She could hear Marcus shedding his sopping wet coat and draping it over the radiator beside the door. She could picture him toeing out of his boots and moving around behind the register to find the pair that he'd left there the week before.